The Drift of Stars
by burningbright
Summary: The technomages are systematically purging their ranks of dissidents as they turn more and more inwards. Can Galen, Dureena, and their new-found allies forge a new Order from these outcasts- before it's too late? Gal/Dur in later chapters.
1. Inauspicious Beginnings

In a place which has no name, far beyond the Rim of known space, a door opened. It was a very peculiar door, for it had not existed until the moment it opened, and when it opened it seemed to open from a sea of unrelenting light into a realm of unrelieved shadow. It was a peculiar property of this light that it did not blend slowly into the darkness as light is wont to do, but rather the barrier between light and shadow was diamond-edged and impenetrable. So it was that a precise and unforgiving rectangle of light illuminated the sole occupant of the room who sat shrouded in black, back to the door. The figure did not stir for a long moment. Then—

"What do you want?" The voice was feminine, and irritated beneath the calm of training. Small hands swept the hood aside as the woman stood and turned, and the light sparked fire in her hair.

"The Circle requires your presence," the man silhouetted in the doorway boomed.

"I have no use for the Circle, nor they for me," was the brisk reply. The woman began to turn away, reaching to draw the hood up again.

"Amara…" The man's voice was suddenly much less magisterial and much more human. The woman paused, turning back. "There is no love lost between you and the Circle, I know, but opposing them has gotten you nowhere. If you would just… cooperate sometimes, I might be able to get you off this miserable lump of rock and back with the rest of us."

"What a kind way to refer to the home of your host, Garvan," she replied dryly. "I'll have you know that I _chose_ the dayside of the moon. I prefer solitude to constant castigation, which is what I receive whenever I am in the Sanctuary proper."

"Nonetheless," the man continued stubbornly, "It would do you no harm to accede to their request." He took a deep breath, and it was clear that he was about to use some appeal that he thought she would be unable to resist. "I was not young when I accepted you as my student, and each passing year weighs more heavily on me. It would set my heart at ease to see you with a place of your own amongst those of our order before I pass beyond."

Amara seethed. Garvan had been like a father to her after she left her family to join the order, and he knew all the right buttons to press. Very little else than a direct appeal to her love for the old man could have persuaded her to once again face the council which ruled their order.

"Very well, teacher mine," she said quietly. "I will go. But only because you make your request so persuasively—and because you fight dirty."

* * *

The hall which had been constructed for the Circle was built of great, undressed blocks of the local grey stone, spartan in the extreme. Lining three of the walls were tiered stone benches to accommodate the Council and those who wished to view open Council sessions. On the fourth side, the otherwise blank wall was breached by a door. Today, the benches lining the walls were full. Amara felt almost immediately intimidated as she stepped into the center of the hall, even knowing as she did that the hall was specifically designed to dwarf whoever had the misfortune of being called before the Circle. The looming figures of her fellow mages filling the benches only served to reinforce that impression. A tingle of fear raced down her spine as she realised just how many mages had come to see her summoned. The last time so many people had been in attendance, a mage had been expelled from the Order. Surely they would not have sent old Garvan to fetch her if she were to be expelled—would they? She ran quickly through her mind, trying to think of anything she might have done to warrant expulsion, and drew a blank. Certainly, she'd done a few things to earn a minor reprimand, a little more meddling than strictly necessary… but nothing worth booting her out. Still, she would feel easier if she could think of anything else that might have drawn such a crowd.

"Amara va Ravnar, it has come to the attention of the Circle that you have once more been meddling in the affairs of humans, and endangering the safety of our hiding place." The voice boomed out, deep and seemingly sourceless. "You have been reprimanded before for having too much contact with outsiders, yet you persist in interfering with the outside world. We know that you maintain a network of informants inside the galactic Rim, and that you have left the Sanctuary in secret several times since our arrival to collect and act upon whatever intelligence they may have had for you."

Amara stood paralysed with shock. Her informants were hand-picked, her security impeccable. There was no way the Circle should have known about them. That aside, her activities were in no way reprehensible—and yet they reeled them off as if they were criminal charges. It wasn't as if she was the only one who still felt responsible for the greater galaxy—but as she looked around, it dawned on her that she was vastly outnumbered by those who felt it safer to stay here on the tiny planet of Haven and never return to known space. Those older mages with whom she had agreed had stayed behind almost to a being, and many of her contemporaries had ventured yet further beyond the Rim, seemingly deciding that if they could not go back they would go forward. Perhaps there were a few who felt as she did who still remained, but how on earth would she find them? She knew very few of the other mages in the first place, having been initiated as a full mage in a hasty ceremony just before the great migration beyond the Rim. There had been only two other acolytes initiated with her—Nicholai and Rebecca. They had long since vanished, drawn by the ever-extending horizon of space beyond the Rim. She roused from her daze as the voice boomed forth again.

"Conall mac Niall, you also stand accused of endangering this hiding place and all who reside therein." Amara glanced around sharply. Beside her stood a lanky young man, tall and rawboned. Blue eyes peered at her curiously from beneath a tangle of dark curls. His mouth was set in a firm, unhappy line at the voice's words, but he flashed a smile at her as their eyes met. "It is the Council's decision that you are henceforth banished from this place of Sanctuary and this Order. You will be allowed to retain your ships and other paraphernalia, on the condition that you gather your belongings and depart immediately. You may not return to this planet or communicate with any member of this Order unless granted pardon by this Council." Now the voice took on a hint of poison. "Since you are so interested in the events of the Galactic proper, you will not mind our final injunction: you are forbidden to travel beyond the Rim, either to seek this planet or any other inhabited by technomages, or to seek any of those exploring the Unknown Reaches."

As Amara and Conall stood, stunned by the magnitude of this punishment, the assembled mages began to file out. One or two seemed to glance at them sympathetically, but many more looked satisfied, even triumphant. Finally the hall was empty but for the two outcasts. At last, Amara turned to face this stranger who was now her partner in exile.

"I don't believe we've been properly introduced," she said—and began to giggle. The giggle became a laugh, a great whooping laugh that was close to tears. She laughed until her sides ached, and she had to subside to one of the benches to try and catch her breath. She laughed until the strange man—Conall—dropped to his knees beside her, looking worried. Slowly, she mastered herself, and gave him a polite, practiced smile. "I beg your pardon. I'm afraid I'm rather overwrought just at the moment."

"I know what you mean," he replied, with a wry twist to his lips. "What say we blow this popsicle stand?" He grinned wickedly. "I've always wanted an excuse to say that."

The smile with which she replied was entirely unpracticed and—he admitted privately to himself—quite devastating.


	2. Meetings and Partings

It did not take long to pack, and Amara saw no one as she walked to the hangar. No one waited to see her off—not even Garvan. She felt an obscure ache growing, pressing against her breastbone, as she realized her foster-father would not come. Her steps slowed, then stopped as she scanned the moorlands all around her, hoping to find some sign of him. There was a soft sound of rock on rock behind her, shocking her out of her reverie. She whirled to face the potential threat, her heart racing with fear until she recognized Conall's lanky form.

Conall stared back at her, his breath catching unexpectedly in his chest. Her eyes were wide and dark in her pale face, and her chest heaved with her fright. He was struck again by her delicate beauty, as he had been when he first saw her standing regal and erect before those old windbags who called themselves the Circle.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. Are you getting ready to leave?" He asked the question gently, but she still flinched.

"I suppose so. I thought… I thought my teacher might come to say goodbye, but…." She trailed off unhappily. Conall was silent for a moment.

"We are already forbidden contact with the others. Your teacher is almost certainly watched to insure that he doesn't break that injunction." His sorrow and sympathy were evident in his voice.

"What of your master? Did he bid you farewell?"

Conall laughed bitterly. "My master bid us both begone before the next sunset. He'll give me no other leave-taking." Amara looked horrified. Conall shrugged. "We were a poor match, but in those last years there was no one else to teach me. I'm really a little surprised that he didn't have me banished before now." His gaze drifted past her, away over the moor, then sharpened. "Hello… what's that?" He pointed over Amara's shoulder, and she turned to look. A small shape skimmed through the air, heading straight for them. As it drew close it resolved into a little grey bird, white-barred wings flashing as it flew. Amara gave a small cry of joy.

"Wren!" She held out her hand and the bird alighted on it, chirping rapidly. Amara's smile grew wider as she listened. "I'm sure the fact that you annoy him to no end has nothing to do with why he's sending you with me," she said to the bird, her sarcasm just barely detectable. The bird made a rude noise. "And where did you learn that?" Amara sounded faintly outraged. Wren ignored her, choosing to examine Conall instead. The bright little eyes held a great deal of intelligence—and an even greater amount of mischief, it seemed to Conall. The bird chirped to Amara at great length, and Conall was interested to see a delicate blush rise in her cheeks. It rose even higher as she glanced at him and then quickly away. "Don't be ridiculous, Wren," she murmured. "I hardly even know him."

There was an awkward moment of silence as Conall tried very hard to appear as if he were not engaged in wild speculation about what the little bird had said. Abruptly, he remembered why he had come looking for Amara in the first place.

"I suppose I had better be going," she said suddenly, sounding rather reluctant.

"Would you like to… go together?" Conall blurted it out more awkwardly than he had meant to. "For a while, at least. Until we reach the Rim."

Amara blushed again as she answered. "I'd like that." Wren flew around them, chirping out commentary as they walked towards the hanger. Amara bore it with great patience and good grace, although from time to time she flushed at what Conall could only assume was a particularly choice remark.

A little while later, anyone watching could have seen the two ships take off. Only a very careful watcher could have seen them as the broke through the atmosphere and linked, belly to belly, for the long trip through empty space. Garvan was a very careful watcher indeed. Through Wren's eyes he watched as the daughter of his heart welcomed the young man Conall to her ship for the first time. A good lad, and spot-on about his watchers. Only the fact that Wren was very quick and clever indeed had allowed her to slip past them unnoticed. It was a pity that such a personable young fellow had gotten stuck with Jaforth, who had probably been a pompous ass from the moment of his birth- certainly Garvan had never known him to be anything but the most dreadful stuffed shirt, and he had been there when Jaforth was first made an apprentice at twelve…. Garvan hauled his wandering attention back to the orb and chuckled as Amara glanced sideways at Conall and blushed for what must have been the twentieth time. Perhaps he would live long enough to see her settled happily after all, if not in quite the same way as he had originally thought.

* * *

Amara smoothed her hands over her full skirts nervously, taking comfort in the dry rustle of the sapphire silk and the subtle sparkle of the silver embroidery which graced its folds. She always felt better when well dressed, one of the few things she had ever agreed with her mother on. As a result, she had fretted over the dress far more than she had the light meal laid out on a low table in the next room. She had never really entertained a man besides Garvan before—certainly not in her ship, which was her most private space.

The portal between their two ships had taken the form of a new doorway just off of the main living space. Except for a slight, shimmering distortion around the edges it looked perfectly normal. In truth it was a very complex bit of spatial engineering which bypassed the usual problems of airlocks and differing gravitational directions. Instead, once you were physically linked with the other ship, you merely opened the door, walked through… and there you were.

It was this door Amara now fronted, schooling herself into patience and calm with all the skill of long practice. She did not have long to wait before it opened and Conall stepped through. His eyes widened a little as he took in the beautiful gown which she wore.

"I think I may be a little under-dressed." He flashed her that charming grin again. "But since there's clearly no point in trying to outshine such loveliness, it's probably better if I don't try." In truth, Amara thought he looked very handsome. He had shed the dark, hooded cloak of their order just as she had, and although his clothing was simple it emphasized the warm blue of his eyes and the strong breadth of his shoulders. Amara could already feel a blush staining her cheeks at the compliment—why did he have that effect on her, she wondered—when Wren fluttered up and perched on her shoulder.

"Will you join me for a meal?" she asked hurriedly, to forestall any comment on Wren's part. She was not quite quick enough. Beneath Conall's hearty assent she heard the quiet not-sound which was the translation interface with Wren saying, _**wouldn't you just like to eat him all up? **_Luckily her back was to Conall as she led the way, and by the time she turned she had regained her composure. "I flatter myself to think that I'm a rather good cook, although I've only ever had my own opinion and Garvan's on the subject."

Conall was surveying the table with the enthusiasm of a true gourmet. "It certainly all smells wonderful… you've even made spoo!" Amara handed him the wine bottle to examine with the quiet smile of one connoisseur who recognizes another, enjoying the look of astonishment which grew on his face. "Albirean dreamwine! 2242… a very good year. Or at least, it's supposed to be; I've never had a chance to try it. It's all supposed to be in the private collection one of the noble families of Albireo Prime." Amara took the bottle gently.

"My father laid it down the year I was born," she said, tracing the label fondly. "Mother has sent me a bottle of it every year for my birthday since I left home." She laughed at his surprise. "Everyone has to come from somewhere, you know. Although we don't call it Albireo—that's the designation on Earth starcharts. At home, we call our system Araciel—the altar of the sky."

Conall wasn't listening. "Amara va Ravnar… of _House _Ravnar? Do you mean to tell me that the Circle just tossed out a member of one of the most important families on all of Albireo Prime?"

"That would appear to be the case, yes." She grinned wryly. "It's not as massively stupid as it seems. My family was never all that thrilled with my decision to join the order in the first place. I'm fairly sure my mother still thinks it's all a stage and that any day now I'll turn sensible, settle down, and do my part to insure the continuance of our line." She snorted disdainfully. "That's part of why she sends the wine every year. At home, of course, it's all bound up in tradition. It's not as strict as it used to be—now that we export some attitudes are relaxing a bit. Even so, there's still that expectation that binds it all up with finding a lover, and marriage and fertility. It was quite a revelation when I left home and saw how differently people see it out here. Still, I've never really been able to adjust to the idea of drinking it alone. It's nice to have someone to share it with again." Amara smiled up at Conall, another of those brilliant, sun-coming-up-over-the-horizon smiles which he was beginning to find addictive.

He gave himself a mental shake. _'Yes, she's lovely, but you know next to nothing about her. Get a hold of yourself, man!'_ It didn't stop him from gallantly pulling out her chair and insisting that she seat herself first. As he released the chair, one long hand brushed against the soft, bare flesh of her arm, and try as he might throughout that most excellent dinner, he found he could not entirely quash the desire to touch her again.

Amara used the rituals of table to cover her own confusion. That simple, innocent touch had been electric—she could still feel the path of his fingers warm on her skin minutes later. By the time all of the serving and pouring had been accomplished, she had recovered herself save for a lingering heat in her cheeks which she desperately hoped was not manifesting as yet another blush.

* * *

**From the Authoress:**

Congratulations on reaching the end of Chapter Two of The Drift of Stars, and welcome to my little corner of the story. Just a few quick things.

1. I imagine a lot of you are wondering where Galen and Dureena and all the rest of the crew are right now. I would say this part of the story is taking place around, say, Racing the Night. I'm just picking an arbitrary episode from the chronological order (which I guess I'm using for this story, although personally I think I prefer having the Well of Forever come before the Path of Sorrows, as it does in the JMS order. But the JMS order makes me crazy because War Zone comes second to last. I know it's because it's a kinda crap episode and all, but still. It's so clearly out of order that it just bugs the hell out of me.) Right! Ranting aside, it's going to take Conall and Amara a little while to get back into known space, by which time all the events of the series should be over and I can pop them in with the Excalbur crew just as if they belonged there. And that's when we'll start getting some Galen/Dureena goodness. Until them, I'm afraid you'll just have to settle for what I hope is the adorable awkwardness that's going to ensue between A and C.

2. This chapter took me a long time to bang out for several reasons, some personal, some not. Even now I'm posting it more because I'm fed up with it than satisfied. Sorry about that! **One thing that would help a lot is a beta**—somebody else to go through and catch typos, doubled words, and other forms of stupid. If, in addition to catching basic stupid, someone were willing to do things like tell me when an idea is so amazingly ridiculous that I should just give it up, that would be awesome (I have a feeling the whole dreamwine thing is probably one of these, but oh well.) So if anybody's interested, give me a yell. I've got pretty extensive notes on this story, so while updates are likely to remain as sporadic as ever, there's lots of momentum and I'm very fond of these characters. So… yeah. If you're interested in beta-ing this story, please leave a note in a review, pm me, or send me an email.

3. Careful readers may notice that I've RetCon'd Conall's haircolor. (Me? Weird and OCD? Never.) For people who didn't go back and read the first chapter again, Conall's hair is _brown_. He has told me I'm a pillock, and I agree—since Amara is blonde, and she was standing right next to him, I really have no excuse unless I want to claim that I somehow managed to mix them up, and even I don't think I'm that crazy. So, my most humble apologies all around.

That's all for now, but keep an eye out—you never know where a chapter might turn up ;)

-S


	3. Interlude

It had started with a dream—a man, a warning, a chance. Now Dureena dreamed again.

"You know what they have done." It was not a question. Although his face had been in shadow before, there was no mistaking the voice. It was the same man. His face was haggard, and his voice held an edge of exhaustion she didn't remember hearing before. "There will be a mission, a search for a cure. Someone of your talents could be uniquely useful, if you chose to participate." There was a question in those guarded words, and Dureena didn't hesitate even a moment before answering it.

"Yes. Just tell me how."

* * *

They met without words. None were needed. Purpose and plan had been forged in the flash of understanding and a far-reaching dream.

They moved through the station, silent and purposeful as death. Weapons were chosen and discarded, stores and disguises refreshed, no choice requiring more than a meeting of eyes for agreement or dismissal. They left in that same silence—never a word spoken or needed, acting in perfect unison. Only when they were free in space did she speak.

"Where will we go?"

"Mars," he replied, and silence reigned again.

No words were needed.

Getting picked up by the police wasn't in the plan, of course.

* * *

Deep in the seamy underbelly of Marsdome, Dureena dreamed.

"I need to leave for a while, but I'm sure we'll meet again soon. There are a few things you should know, in case my absence is more prolonged than I anticipate. A man named Matthew Gideon will be arriving soon. He has been chosen to head the search for a cure, and he will need you on his team. If I have not returned by the time he arrives, find him and give him your qualifications—"

The connection snapped suddenly, leaving Galen with an aching head which throbbed in time with his implants as they processed the backlash. He sighed and settled back, gently massaging his temples. Pointless to try and re-establish the electron incantation until he had recovered. He already regretted his hasty departure and the urgency which had not allowed him time to find and collect his companion. Her company had not been the irritant he had expected it to be, used as he was to solitude. Now, without her, the reaches of his ship seemed just a little darker, a little emptier and more lonely. He found he missed the quiet scrape of metal on whetstone, the spare, evocative movements which could communicate just as effectively as speech. They had carried out whole conversations that way—as much gesture as word. In this lone woman, sole survivor of her race, he had found a kindred spirit.

He decided not to worry about the incantation. His errand wouldn't take long, and Dureena was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

* * *

Dureena woke to a sharp kick in the ribs. Normally she would have been on her feet, knife in hand, before she was truly awake, but she was swamped by dizziness as she strove to break free of the dream. It only took her a split second longer, but in that second they were on her. The two toughs were big, but she was fast and she fought hard, determined to escape into the milling throng only a few yards from her curtained alcove. They were all studiously ignoring the fight. In a place like this, you either learned the rules of survival or you died, and the first rule was "Mind your own business". She broke free of her attackers at last and darted out into the crowd, ducking and weaving as she attempted to gain as much distance as possible. The men behind her weren't as careful, and the fight began to spread through the crowd until it was a great seething melee with Dureena trapped in the middle. She saw the man wielding a broken-off chair leg as a club draw back and aim at her head, but there was no room and no time to dodge.

The last thing she saw before she crumpled to the floor was a flood of Marsdome police in full riot gear bearing down on the mob. Then darkness engulfed her and she knew nothing more for quite some time.


	4. Sing

Finally the last scrap had been eaten, the last plate cleared away. All that remained on the table was the half-full bottle of dreamwine and the two delicate goblets. Amara uncorked it and poured them each another glass, feeling the delicious languor of the wine beginning to wash through her, gently brightening colors and intensifying sensation. Conall drifted around the periphery of the room, admiring the art with which she had decorated it, pausing before a golden harp of ancient design. It was finely made but clearly much used; the bright new strings outshone the cracked, flaking gilding which had fallen away in places to show the wood beneath. Watching him, Amara found herself seized by an urge.

"Would you like to hear it played?" she offered. His affirmative reply was quick and eager. She drew the harp to herself gently and began to tune it. "At home, my sisters and I used to play and sing for each other after taking dreamwine—the old, traditional songs were composed to be sung at such times, and I have always thought them to be the loveliest of songs." Her fingers caressed the strings almost absently as she spoke, nearly distracting Conall from her words with the quiet sensuality of the gesture. Then, smoothly, she shifted into the opening chords of a song.

"The voice of my Beloved sings me from my sleep; / he sings my soul from hiding in its silent snowy keep…"

Amara's voice, although not very strong, was lovely. The softness of her voice and the rippling chords she drew from the harp made the small room seem more intimate yet. Conall found himself drifting closer and closer, as if the song were a spell drawing him in. Finally the last chord drifted away into silence. Conall came to himself after a moment and found that he was standing much closer to Amara than was polite. He took a step back, even as Amara lifted her head and gave a contented little sigh. She almost seemed to glow as she looked up at him. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Very much." There was an awkward moment of silence, then he gave himself an internal shake, recalling himself. "There's something I've been wondering about. You said you don't call your world Albireo Prime—what do you call it? And what do you call your stars?" Amara laughed gently, set the harp aside, and pulled him down beside her at the table, all anxiety long since dissolved by good food and wine and company. At a wave of her hand and a murmured word, a shining vista of stars appeared in the air above the table, the view drifting gently around the trinary system of her home.

"Our stars are Ambra, Orlaith, and Jinhos," she said, touching each in turn as she named it. As she touched them they flared up with astonishing richness until it seemed that three jewels, two golden and one blue, floated before them. "And we aren't truly the first planet in our system, just the first inhabitable one. Here," and another touch magnified a tiny speck careening around and between all three suns, "is Azar, and following her are Charna and Stone." Two more specks hove into view. All three were stark, slag-covered wastelands. "They're much too close to the suns to have ever been habitable." The view zoomed out again, passing a wide asteroid belt and moving some distance away before alighting on a planet well away from the first three and the band of celestial debris. A touch enlarged it, and the view drifted over rolling hills and verdant forests, the cool stone of cities and the wide expanse of oceans. "And this—this is home." There was a catch in Amara's voice as she watched her home planet slip by before her. "Nava, we call it, when we must give it another name." There was sorrow in her face as she spoke, and her thoughts seemed far away.

"You've been away a long time, haven't you?"

Amara grimaced, coming back to herself. "Up until we went beyond the Rim the exile was basically voluntary. The Order is—was—my life. I had to give up a lot of things, and I've missed my sisters more than I can say, but other things I don't miss at all. I chose this life. It's just that I had forgotten how beautiful my home really is." She reached out a hand to touch the display. It obediently condensed into a bright singularity and winked out.

"You have siblings? Isn't that rare on your world?" Conall asked, startled.

"Yes, but my father's family produces the best dreamwines on the planet, and their efficacy in boosting fertility is borne out in my sisters and me. I'm not sure which he's prouder of when you get right down to it—the quality of his vineyards, or the fact that he's fathered nine children."

A pin would not have dared to drop in the silence which followed.

Amara's hand flew to her mouth, much too late to keep the words back, and glanced from her several-times-emptied wineglass to Conall's slack-jawed astonishment before uttering a quiet—but extremely heartfelt—"Damn."

Conall stood and began to pace agitatedly. "You mean to say that you're not just a member of one of the most powerful families on your world, some relatively unknown scion of a cadet branch, but you are actually one of the nine imperial princesses? What is your family thinking, just letting you wander around the universe on your own? For that matter, what are you thinking?"

Amara broke in before he could give himself a heart attack. "I didn't mean to say anything. And I'm not wandering around on my own, I've got you. Look, I hate being an imperial princess, and I would far rather nobody ever knew. I think everybody would prefer that—I'm sort of like a diplomatic incident waiting to happen. And I wasn't lying about my parents not really approving. It would be horribly embarrassing for Mother if it came out that I've renounced any claim to the throne just to be a technomage." She looked up at him earnestly, but his face was still set with—anger? Hurt? It was hard to say. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't want to deceive you, but concealment is my protection. And—," her voice sank low, "I wanted you to like me for me, and not for political advantage or leverage or something. Nobody ever makes friends with royalty just for the sake of being friends. Everyone always wants something… ." Her head dropped and her shoulders slumped. She started as Conall stuck a hand out.

"Pax?" he asked. She studied him for a moment. There was no greed in his gaze—only compassion. She grinned.

"Pax," she agreed, but he pulled his hand away before she could shake it.

"Ah-ah. On one condition." She glared impatiently and he laughed. "One condition—I want you to tell me your full name." Her glare grew fiercer, if anything, but he didn't flinch. Instead, the mirth in his eyes only increased. With a grump, she stuck out her own hand and they shook on it.

"I suppose you want the full title, too?" He nodded. "Oh, all right, but you have to promise not to laugh." She took a deep breath in and released it slowly before beginning. "My full name and title is Amara Iphigenia va Ravnar, Imperial Princess of the First Line of the House of Ravnar, daughter of Her Imperial Majesty Ilithyia Valeriana of that House and of her most noble Consort Pherick Garaile va Vedra." She rushed through it like a schoolchild reciting a lesson, making it all fit in one breath. "And I hate my middle name," she said after a brief pause for air. "If you ever call me by it I'll… I'll… well, I don't know what I'll do, but it will be awful." Conall's lips twitched. "Was that a laugh?" They twitched again. "It was! You're laughing! You promised you wouldn't laugh!"

"I promised no such thing!" was the rejoinder. Then he was laughing in earnest, and the evening ended in good-natured argument, the startling revelations of the evening not exactly forgotten, but put aside for another time.

* * *

An easy familiarity grew up between them in the long weeks of travel as they shed the formality of the Order as they had their cloaks. Simply, friendly contact—to attract attention, reinforce a point, or simply to be close to another being—permeated their lives as it never could have when they lived confined within the strictures of the Order. Slowly, quietly, the shadow which had lain over them since their departure leached away, and Amara found herself as happy as she had ever been since she was a child playing with her sisters.

Eventually they reached the Rim, and kept going. Neither of them mentioned anything about going their separate ways.

* * *

**From the Authoress:**

So, not a lot happens in this chapter. Sorry! But don't worry—this is my little way of hurrying us along towards the Excalibur and her crew while covering a little ground that needed covering between these two. If you're interested, the song which Amara sings is "Beloved", by Kate Price. If you'd like to listen to the original (which I don't believe actually involves a harp, although I know it has a hammered dulcimer), I think you ought to be able to hear it over at . I love this song so much that I just couldn't pass up the chance to have Amara sing it, although I'm generally loathe to insert song lyrics into the actual body of my stories.

The next chapter may take a little longer to get out than usual, and I'll just go ahead and apologize in advance. I'm going back to school full time this fall, and I expect I'll have rather less time to write for pleasure. In addition, the next chapter exists in a sort of hole in my planning—I have tons of scenes jotted down that take place throughout the story arc, but none for the actual meeting between the Excalibur's crew and my wandering mages. If it starts to look like it will really be a while, you may have to satisfy yourselves with another interlude piece on Galen and Dureena. Please try and contain your disappointment :P.

**From the Authoress, again. 9/20/10:**

Writing this from a year later, I can say the next chapter will definitely take longer to get out than usual. I suck, I know, but all of my writing time is currently being taken up with academic work. Still, I haven't died and neither has this story.

Also, from now on all em dashes should show up correctly. When writing, I generally use a double hyphen for the em dash for speed and ease. Unfortunately, FFnet drops the second hyphen. Hopefully going back in and putting in the em dashes correctly will improve the readability of some of these chapters, given my love for that particular form of punctuation.


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